All craigslist encounters should be this uncomplicated. I was at my desk late Wednesday afternoon, and since I'd swapped nights with the ex, I was free that evening. I was tired, so I thought about just going home, reading, watching some TV, and hitting the sack, but when I looked at craigslist, I saw this:
anyone into giving massage to a guy with nice body in rockville Will host You bring whats needed for massage
WM 150 5'11"
So I figured I'd at least email the guy. I really wasn't feeling up for all out sex, but I always like having my hands on/in another guy. But this guy almost surely didn't have a table, and unless the bed is very high, massaging a guy on his bed is not as much fun unless it's foreplay. So I sent a message:
Hi. I love to give massage. I'm at work in Bethesda and live in [my exurb], so I can make it to [his town] if you want to host, but I have a table at my place if you can travel there tonight.
And I heard back:
I'm not panning to travel
Can you do massage without a table?
Well, what the hell. My reply:
I can do it without a table. I can just pick up some baby oil, and you can lie on towels or a blanket on the bed. Probably around 7 would work for me.
And then, from him:
Sounds good 7PM it is
100 [his street] [his town]
What is it about men of few words that's so attractive? Maybe it's that the more a guy says and asks on CL, the less likely he is to follow through. Guys who want to know exactly what you're going to do to them, in great detail, are generally more interested in jerking off to your (many) emails than they are in thrusting their feet heavenwards. On the other hand, a guy who says "c'mon over" too quickly might be having you on, so I googled the address to make sure it was legit, and it was, so when the time came, I left the office, stopped by the drug store for the baby oil, and headed to his place.
There was a work van in his driveway, and when I rang the doorway, I saw him get off the couch, and he definitely looked blue collar. He was wearing sweats and a t-shirt, and he had somewhat weathered skin and a full beard that was neither long nor neat. His hands looked not dirty but stained, and two of the fingers on his right hand were heavily bandaged. There'd been traffic and a driving storm on the way over, so I apologized for being a little (ten minutes) late, but he just said, "No problem," and I followed him up the stairs to the master bedroom. It was clearly a house where children lived, and the room was obviously one he shared with his wife. I asked to use the bathroom, and he pointed. When I came back from taking a piss, he was on the bed, on his stomach, with his eyes closed. And his boxers still on: you gotta love straight men.
The lights were too bright, and there was no music, and, worst, the bed was so low that I couldn't massage him standing up, so I had to sit next to him. I figured this was not great news for my back (and, in fact, it was sore a couple of days later), but there was a nice, smooth, lean back on a nice, lean, hairy guy, and I had a bottle of oil, so I started.
Massage is not as effective as sex is for distracting your mind from discomfort. You know how that is: when you're horned up and about to play or when you're actually playing, you can pretty much ignore anything. "Don't worry boy, It's just my left arm, and they can probably reattach it later, and the blood's nice and warm, and besides, who told you you could stop sucking my cock?" Massage isn't that, but it can still be plenty diverting, and after a couple of moments, my body's objections about the discomfort inherent in my position were fading, and when I was working my way down the shoulders and discovered that my client had the most clearly outlined infraspinatus muscles1 that I'd ever seen, I was entirely captivated. I kept working back and forth across them on both sides for probably longer than was strictly necessary to relax them.
Not that this guy ever seemed at all tense. In fact, he said next to nothing during the massage. Once when I was working on my shoulders, he said, "Sorry, I forgot to offer you something to drink; do you want anything?" And then, much later, when I had his cock in my hand and pulled it back so that it had gone slightly past a ninety -degree angle with his body, he said, "Hurts," but that was it. There was no moaning, no noticeable acceleration of the breath, and hardly any rigidity in his body. It did a lot to enhance the notion that he was a direct and uncomplicated individual.
Uncomplicated men, of course, invite a great deal of speculation about their particulars, but I didn't develop a story for him until later. At the time, I just continued working my way slowly down his body. I had worked the shoulders, upper back, middle back, and posterior pelvis, my fingers occasionally sliding under the waistband of his boxers, and when it was time to go to his ass, I began pulling his boxers down, and he shifted slightly to allow me to get them off him. This gave me the first chance to appreciate a) just how slender his legs really were, and b) what a pretty ass he had. Despite the very smooth back, there was a layer of fur from his waist down. Because it was a very light brown, it was mostly not very noticeable, but when I began massaging his ass with more vigor and his cheeks spread, I saw that the hair grew to a dense thatch around his asshole. The sight of it was somewhat mesmerizing; fortunately, my hands went on autopilot for a bit, and I soon regrouped enough to work my way down his legs.
When you're working with someone who has no audible or muscular reaction when you rub near his asshole, it's hard to determine whether and how much he's into assplay, but there are a couple of guiding principles: 1) if he doesn't object or pull away as you get close, he's probably at least willing, and 2) if he puts an ad for massage in the M4M on craiglist, if he objects, he at least won't object angrily. It almost always make sense to go for it, with the proviso that if you're massaging a married guy who hasn't explicitly asked for some assplay, you should skip the asshole if you're squeamish about the possibility of inadequate anal hygiene. I figure I can always wash my hands if need be, but in this case, the anus, which offered no objections -- either directly or through the voice of its owner -- was very clean. And while the guy was still entirely unresponsive and lay there with his eyes closed and his body relaxed, I could sense a prostate that got happier and happier the more I worked it.
And when I told him to flip over, his long, thin, uncut cock (perfectly in proportion with his long, thin, untrimmed body) was leaking a substantial stream of precum, and his nuts (ample and hairy) were pulled up tight. I, of course, ignored his cock (and balls) at first and, dribbling a pool of baby oil on his sternum and another under his Adam's apple, began working his face, neck, and upper body. When I'd worked the fronts of his shoulders and his arms and moved down to his pecs and anterior pelvis, it was an easy manner for my arm to brush his penis, which went from nearly to fully erect. I worked my way down his legs and then and then returned to his nipples before moving on to his cock. He occasionally opened his eyes and looked at me briefly, but otherwise, he stayed relaxed and silent.
I finally grabbed his cock, skinned back the head, and began stroking the shaft. I expected a fairly quick shot, but after a minute or so, he was still as hard, but I could see that his balls had actually loosened a bit. When a guy isn't making noise or thrashing or otherwise signalling the intensity of the sensation, I'm not as interested in edging or even slightly prolonged stroking, so I slid a finger up his ass and began pressing on his prostate. He still didn't make any noise or breathe any harder or faster, but I could feel him pressing his prostate back against my finger, and after about another minute or so, my hand was suddenly covered in his cum. I stroked him for another fifteen seconds or so, figuring that a sensitive cockhead would get a reaction, but he was relaxed even through that. I have to give him credit.
I grabbed a towel and wiped him off, then had him flip back on his stomach, and I gave him another couple of minutes of shoulder and upper back massage to relieve the tension, but it didn't seem that any had been created. He was a truly remarkable specimen. When I told him he seemed very relaxed, he said, "I'm relieved, that's for sure," and then he closed his eyes again. After a few seconds more rubbing, I stopped, and when I stood up, he stood up, and we both got dressed. He walked me downstairs and said that he would shake my hand, but his hand was injured, so I offered him my left hand, and we shook, and I said goodbye. I told him that he was right about having a nice body. And he was: it was a very unusual massage, but he liked it, and I liked it, and I guess that meant that no further discussion was necessary.
1I didn't know it was the infraspinatus muscle at the time, of course. I just knew that it was a very well outlined (though not especially big) muscle. I had to do some research, during the course of which I found the picture at the bottom and, later, the chart below. The infraspinatuses on the picture are kind of hulking, and this guy's weren't at all. They were just unusually easy to make out and play with.